Growing
by AsTheSun
Summary: A response to a set of writing prompts set in the time near the end of Mockingjay when Peeta and Katniss are growing back together. Lengths and topics will vary. All prompts will feature Katniss and Peeta, but other characters may come and go.
1. Why Are You Calling Me?

Found a tumblr (alloftheprompts) with a number of interesting writing prompts broken down in sets. I imagine that they're meant to let tumblr followers submit a number and receive a short bit written for them, but I don't have enough tumblr followers yet for that to be much use for me.

Instead I'm going to try to write a little something for each of the ten prompts, to try and jump start my brain for writing. I have two large pieces that are going nowhere due to writer's block. Here's to hoping this will help get past them! So I give you Prompt Set 321-1! These bits will be set near the end of MJ.

Prompt One: Why are you calling me?

_Characters: Katniss, feat. Plutarch_

_Length: 893 words_

* * *

In the months since Peeta's return, I worked hard to set routines for myself. Dr. Aurelius was right when he said that going through the motions would bring meaning to them eventually. When I feel myself sliding into sadness, I think of the next thing that I needed to do and force myself to do it. My bows have never been so well kept and the house has never been cleaner or more dust free. The floors shines from the lemon scented cleaner I find under the sink and Sae's granddaughter slides around on it in her stocking covered feet, giggling like mad.

There's very little that I do, that isn't planned down to the moment. On my bad days, it's safer that way. On good days, it keeps me on track. I have breakfast and dinner with Peeta, Sae and her granddaughter. I hunt in the middle of the day and distribute the meat where it's most needed. My afternoons are split between chores, speaking with friends, family and Dr. Aurelius on the phone and working on the memory book.

I think that's why I'm not surprised when the phone rings one afternoon. The hours between my return from the woods and dinner are the time for phone calls. I balance my bow and the small tin of wax on my lap as I answer the ringing with a distracted hello.

"Katniss, my girl, how have you been?"

Hearing Plutarch Heavensby's voice brings me up short. It's been nearly a year since he walked off the hovercraft and told me not to be a stranger. I had honestly never expected to hear from him again. For a moment, I panic, my carefully laid routines thrown askew. My mouth opens and closes a few times before I manage to make myself speak.

"Why are you calling me?"

I know it's rude and hardly fair. The ex-gamemaker was a strange man who straddled the line between friend and enemy throughout our entire association, but he certainly didn't deserve that. Before I can apologize, he laughs and replies, "That's what I've always liked about you. You've never been one to beat around the bush. I had it on good authority that you're finally on the mend after everything that had happened. I called you for weeks after you returned, but it seemed no one had seen or heard from you. I thought I'd let you be until you were feeling more like yourself."

"Oh." I murmur. My mouth has gone so dry that my tongue seems stuck to the roof of my mouth. I try to think of something more to say, but my brain can't catch any of the thoughts that tumble past.

"When we talked last, I mentioned that I was launching a singing program. It isn't really catching on like I had hoped." I frown, vaguely recalling the way he had described the concept of the new show during our flight, "I think it could really use a guest star with a voice like gold. What do you say?"

As quickly as the panic had set in, it slips away. The request is absurd. If I were allowed to leave the district, and I very much doubt I would be allowed, the last thing I would want to do is spend my time performing for the camera. I was the mad girl who had accidentally shot the wrong president. Who would want to watch me stand on a stage in a pretty dress and sing?

"I don't think so, Plutarch. Everyone's heard me sing my best song. How would I ever top it?" I murmur, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I can hear him draw a breath to argue with me so I rush into a point I know will convince him, "I'm also a little… less easy on the eyes than I used to be. I think people would be so disturbed by the scars that I'd do more harm than good."

I can hear Plutarch sigh and make a little noise of agreement, "I hadn't considered that. Makeup does do wonders…"

"I really didn't heal up very well." I add. It's a lie. The scars aren't that bad, but people who have lived in the Capitol take things like that more seriously than most.

"That's that then." He says, disappointed, "I'll think on it some more. If I come up with something, I'll give you another call."

I can't help smiling a little, "I'm sure whatever you come up with will be well liked."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're doing better." He says abruptly, "I'm sure I'll talk to you again before long."

I say goodbye and hang up the phone, chuckling a little. The bow and wax are waiting in my lap, the next step in my routine. With only a little hesitation, I set them aside and stand, stretching and wincing as my spine pops. For the first time, the routine seems like more of a hindrance than a blessing. I scoop up a parcel of meat from the counter on my way out the front door. I want to tell Peeta about Plutarch's call, to make him laugh. I rarely have anything to say that makes him laugh. I just hope he won't mind a little break from his routines.

* * *

There you go! Hope you enjoyed. Follow me on tumblr radant-as-the-sun


	2. You keep blaming me for your mistakes

Found a tumblr (alloftheprompts) with a number of interesting writing prompts broken down in sets. I imagine that they're meant to let tumblr followers submit a number and receive a short bit written for them, but I don't have enough tumblr followers yet for that to be much use for me.

Instead I'm going to try to write a little something for each of the ten prompts, to try and jump start my brain for writing. I have two large pieces that are going nowhere due to writer's block. Here's to hoping this will help get past them! So I give you Prompt Set 321-1! These bits will be set near the end of MJ.

Prompt One: Why are you calling me?

_Characters: Katniss, feat. Plutarch_

_Length: 893 words_

* * *

In the months since Peeta's return, I worked hard to set routines for myself. Dr. Aurelius was right when he said that going through the motions would bring meaning to them eventually. When I feel myself sliding into sadness, I think of the next thing that I needed to do and force myself to do it. My bows have never been so well kept and the house has never been cleaner or more dust free. The floors shines from the lemon scented cleaner I find under the sink and Sae's granddaughter slides around on it in her stocking covered feet, giggling like mad.

There's very little that I do, that isn't planned down to the moment. On my bad days, it's safer that way. On good days, it keeps me on track. I have breakfast and dinner with Peeta, Sae and her granddaughter. I hunt in the middle of the day and distribute the meat where it's most needed. My afternoons are split between chores, speaking with friends, family and Dr. Aurelius on the phone and working on the memory book.

I think that's why I'm not surprised when the phone rings one afternoon. The hours between my return from the woods and dinner are the time for phone calls. I balance my bow and the small tin of wax on my lap as I answer the ringing with a distracted hello.

"Katniss, my girl, how have you been?"

Hearing Plutarch Heavensby's voice brings me up short. It's been nearly a year since he walked off the hovercraft and told me not to be a stranger. I had honestly never expected to hear from him again. For a moment, I panic, my carefully laid routines thrown askew. My mouth opens and closes a few times before I manage to make myself speak.

"Why are you calling me?"

I know it's rude and hardly fair. The ex-gamemaker was a strange man who straddled the line between friend and enemy throughout our entire association, but he certainly didn't deserve that. Before I can apologize, he laughs and replies, "That's what I've always liked about you. You've never been one to beat around the bush. I had it on good authority that you're finally on the mend after everything that had happened. I called you for weeks after you returned, but it seemed no one had seen or heard from you. I thought I'd let you be until you were feeling more like yourself."

"Oh." I murmur. My mouth has gone so dry that my tongue seems stuck to the roof of my mouth. I try to think of something more to say, but my brain can't catch any of the thoughts that tumble past.

"When we talked last, I mentioned that I was launching a singing program. It isn't really catching on like I had hoped." I frown, vaguely recalling the way he had described the concept of the new show during our flight, "I think it could really use a guest star with a voice like gold. What do you say?"

As quickly as the panic had set in, it slips away. The request is absurd. If I were allowed to leave the district, and I very much doubt I would be allowed, the last thing I would want to do is spend my time performing for the camera. I was the mad girl who had accidentally shot the wrong president. Who would want to watch me stand on a stage in a pretty dress and sing?

"I don't think so, Plutarch. Everyone's heard me sing my best song. How would I ever top it?" I murmur, trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I can hear him draw a breath to argue with me so I rush into a point I know will convince him, "I'm also a little… less easy on the eyes than I used to be. I think people would be so disturbed by the scars that I'd do more harm than good."

I can hear Plutarch sigh and make a little noise of agreement, "I hadn't considered that. Makeup does do wonders…"

"I really didn't heal up very well." I add. It's a lie. The scars aren't that bad, but people who have lived in the Capitol take things like that more seriously than most.

"That's that then." He says, disappointed, "I'll think on it some more. If I come up with something, I'll give you another call."

I can't help smiling a little, "I'm sure whatever you come up with will be well liked."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're doing better." He says abruptly, "I'm sure I'll talk to you again before long."

I say goodbye and hang up the phone, chuckling a little. The bow and wax are waiting in my lap, the next step in my routine. With only a little hesitation, I set them aside and stand, stretching and wincing as my spine pops. For the first time, the routine seems like more of a hindrance than a blessing. I scoop up a parcel of meat from the counter on my way out the front door. I want to tell Peeta about Plutarch's call, to make him laugh. I rarely have anything to say that makes him laugh. I just hope he won't mind a little break from his routines.

* * *

There you go! Hope you enjoyed. Follow me on tumblr radant-as-the-sun


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